


Still In Love

by Leoithne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Feels, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoithne/pseuds/Leoithne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And, despite his logical advice, you, illogically, stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still In Love

**Author's Note:**

> This work was published a long time ago - actually, about 6 months ago - by me on an Italian site of fanfiction (EFP).   
> I finally decided to translate it into English, and this is the result.
> 
> The song which inspired it is "Still in Love" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.
> 
> Warning: I'm not British and English is not my first language, so be kind and point out if there are any mistakes in this.
> 
> As always, I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor do I own any of the characters depicted here. All the rights to BBC, all the fun - yeah, I had sooo much fun in writing this...ehr, no - to me.

Two police cars arrive just before dawn. You dialled them with difficulty, pressing figures one by one on your mobile. Blue beacons abruptly flood the small room with their artificial light, and you are looking outside the window while the cops enter the flat. The first is Lestrade, still wearing that ragged raincoat he doesn’t want to get rid of. He’s attached to it, or so he says. Growing so fond of an object it’s stupid, I think.

You welcome him with a smile, but your lips just crumple and cannot possibly conceal the thoughts crossing your mind. You’re tired, exhausted even. It can be seen in your eyes, in your face, in your nervous pacing. Lestrade doesn’t seem to notice. I do. I do because I know you, because I know what those eyes that are still avoiding to meet the inspector’s mean, because I know you’d like to leave.

But you stay. Stubbornly.

You stand still, rather than going back home, observing the forensic team enter the room. You stand still, cataloguing them one by one as they trample on the floor with their plastic-covered shoes and with their bodies clad in blueish suits.

Yet I see that you’d like to leave when you reach the kitchen and put the kettle on. You’re calm and you’d like to flee.

But you stay, undismayed.

You make some tea as if it were normal, and you offer it to those who are digging here and there, who are checking this and that. Your smile is one of kindness, but your fingers are shaking. You should stop. You know you should.

Undismayed, you go on.

Lestrade is confabbing with someone you know but of whom you don’t remember the name. He looks at you and gestures you to get closer. He speaks openheartedly. Lestrade knows what he’s about. You don’t.

And, despite his logical advice, you, illogically, stay.

Only when everyone turns their heads away, then your face changes. What you were hiding deep inside resurfaces and it transfigures you. You’re tired and you know you should leave, but you’re still there staring at the rising sun.

But now it’s time to go. Hide your fears and those bitter tears you despair of holding back, hide your ever-earnest eyes, and hide your worn-out face. And hide your memories, hide them all. And lock them in a secret place and don’t open them anymore. Or throw them in the street below, let them be blown away by the wind, the rain and snow. Forget them, because you don’t need them anymore. You don’t need the sad ones, you don’t need the happy ones. Forget them because it’s the only way you could go home, because it’s the only way your hands won’t shake while you’re pouring tea, because it’s the only way your hidden tears will cease to exist.

Don’t worry about me. There’s no single memory of sadness in me, not anymore. It disappeared as I fell to the ground. So, don’t worry. From my cold lips and my glassy eyes I can’t feel any pain anymore. Not that sharp, deep pain I had been feeling since you left this flat. Not any pain. Not anymore.

So, don’t worry.

And if, by mistake, you’ll recall me, remember I am no use to you at all.

So, don’t worry, go away.

And don’t think I’m crazy when I say I’m still in love with you.

Don’t worry.

I’m still in love with you.

 


End file.
